


Long Roads

by geekpaws



Series: The Road to Vegas [3]
Category: Fallout 3, Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: F/M, Torture, past rape referenced
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-13 10:17:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9119248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekpaws/pseuds/geekpaws
Summary: Life on the Strip is simple. Happy. Is it a crime for the courier to be content? The world apparently thinks it is, as all of Honor's roads seem to end up taking her back to those two little bullets Benny put through her brain, and the past they wiped out.





	1. Chapter 1

Benny frowned at the glittering trinket the merchant held out to him. "Have anything fancier? Shinier?"

Beside him, Tony sighed loudly. "Boss, you could signal vertibirds down with that thing. Ain't it enough?"

Benny ignored him. "Got anything like that? I need this to say...." He trailed off. When he was sweet talking his pussycat, the patter just rolled off a silver tongue. Trying to articulate actual emotions to someone who wasn't his Honor, now, that was tough.

The merchant grinned at him, but her eyes were wistful. "It needs to say, 'My man thinks I'm the best woman in the world.'"

Benny smiled back. "The _only_ woman in the world." Tony sighed again, even more loudly this time. Benny ignored him again.

The woman helping him didn't notice or chose to ignore Tony as well, simply placing the bit of jewelry aside and turning to the safe in the wall. The protectrons at the door perked up and focused on them, but Benny had no intention of busting the place up. No, he was strictly legit now, had been since he got back from Legion captivity. His baby was legit, or at least mostly, as far as they knew; the least, the _very_ least, he could do for her was try to live up to her own standards...to her _name,_ for chrissakes.

And try to shower her with gifts that expressed how he felt about her. Which was kind of impossible.

The woman turned back around, holding up a ring with a small jewel that glittered in the beam of sunlight through the window and cast tiny rainbows across the counter. The jewel might be small, but the light casting through it was showy, over the top for the wasteland. So in Benny's opinion it was perfect.

He didn't bother asking the price. This was for his baby; price was irrelevant. He paid what she asked without question and slipped the carefully wrapped bundle into his pocket. Tony sighed again but held his tongue− until they left the store.

"Why you spendin' such a fortune on that dame, Boss? That bitch is colder than a lakelurk's balls."

Benny laughed at the boy's scowl, which only made the kid redden and scowl all the more. Tony had resented Honor from the moment she'd broken his nose and knocked him on his ass in front of Swank, Louie, and about two dozen gamblers. Benny recalled the moment with a lot more fondness than Tony did; the kid had been put on duty at reception, responsible for frisking incomers for weapons, and he'd let someone through with a sawed-off. Honor had spotted the fink, thrown him out bodily herself, and rounded on Tony. Amid much swearing and shouting ("You stupid little son of a bitch! Do you have any idea who your chief is now? How many people want to kill him to take over the Strip?") Honor had, at some point during her tirade, decked the kid and sent him sprawling, nose and ego in equal pain. Benny knew some of the other Chairmen had distrusted Honor, that they saw her at best as a suspect outsider and at worst as an opportunist, but that little incident put their minds at ease. She was on the Chairmen's side, on Benny's side, and no one else's.

Of course, Tony still resented her, especially since the other guys wouldn't let him live it down.

They returned to the Tops. Still the Tops, and still his. His honey baby had taken care of Mr. House, rescued him from those Legion bastards, then tracked him down again to hand Vegas over to him, just like that. Hadn't wanted to run anything, she'd said. Done with being important. Done with being a target. Thought there was no one else capable and visionary enough to run the Strip but he. He grinned at the memory.

They stepped through the doors and into a firefight.

Swank and the others had abandoned the front desk; a suited body lay behind it but Benny didn't have a chance to check who it was. He and Tony flung themselves behind the planter behind the desk. Benny already had Maria drawn before he peered around the corner.

Lots of shouting, lots of gunfire, all of it centered around the tables between the front desk and the elevators. Three, four guys, looked like, spraying bullets out of odd-looking rifles. He'd worry about how they snuck them in later− right now he was far more concerned about his sweet pussycat who was, naturally, right in the thick of things.

The thugs had surprised her− had surprised everyone, obviously− as she wasn't wearing her armor. Instead she wore one of Benny's shirts, buttoned crookedly in three places, with her tummy, silken lingerie, and long legs bared. She held one of her favorite rifles and hammered away at the nearest thug. Other Chairmen exchanged shots with the other three, and the customers all seemed to have escaped or found shelter deeper inside the casino. Her bullets weren't making a dent in her target's armor, though, making Benny wonder what good he thought he was going to do with a pistol, and then she got a head shot that sent the back of the goon's skull flying. Benny grinned. _One more for my baby._ He waited until the thug with the best line of sight for him was distracted, then stepped out of cover and took aim.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw another man, a fifth player, a pipe or club in his hand, and he was behind Honor. No one else seemed to notice him, dealing as they were with the shouting lunatics in front of them. Benny felt like he'd taken a dose of turbo that slowed the world down around him, but took him with it. He changed his aim, but too, too slow; something tugged hard at his arm, causing his shot to go wild. In the same split second Tony dropped to the floor beside him with a hole in his chest, and the fifth man brought the club down hard on the back of Honor's skull. She fell to the carpet and didn't move.

He bolted for her, suddenly unaware of the bullets flying around his head, and dropped to his knees at her side. "Pussycat, honey baby, wake up, talk to me, look at me−" All the while he gathered her in his arms, cradling her head against his chest with one hand and clenching her body against himself with the other. "Not now, not already, not like this...." He petted her face, watched for her eyes to flutter open, growing more panicked by the moment when they didn't. He became vaguely aware of people standing around him, but he couldn't stop to care whether they were the thugs or his own men. "Baby, baby, please. Open your eyes. For me. _Please."_

The rest of the world finally began to register as a rough shake of his shoulder. "Boss. _Boss."_

He spared a glance upward to see Swank and the others hovering over him. "We lost two of our boys...is she still breathing?"

Benny nodded. He wouldn't speak and risk there being a quaver in his voice; he was showing enough weakness, enough vulnerability, as it was. Swank turned to one of the others. "Get a doc, now. Fast."

Benny stayed in the floor, cradling Honor like a baby, unaware that he'd been shot himself until someone insisted that the Followers doctor look at his arm, too− the bullet that threw off his shot and killed Tony. The next hours he passed in a bewildered fog as the doc checked Honor over and they put her to bed. A few words floated through his haze, words already too painfully familiar, like "previous insult" and "head injury" and "brain damage." There was nothing more they could do. He sat by their bed, watching Honor not move, his elbow propped on the bedstand and cheek propped in his hand as the doctor dug into the meat of his upper arm with a pair of forceps to retrieve the slug sans med-x or stimpaks− all they'd had, he insisted go to her, for all the good it did. He watched her not move until his blood loss finally put him in the floor for Swank to find hours later.

He regained consciousness some time early the next morning. He'd been lain in bed next to her. Her hair splayed over the pillow, and he trailed his fingers through it. "Pussycat. I've been waiting for you to leave me for being a bastard. For hurting you." He caressed her cheek with his fingertips. She might as well have been a porcelain doll for the reaction he got. "And you've left me like this instead. Pussycat. What'm I supposed to do now?"


	2. Chapter 2

"For fuck's sake, I don't know what to do with two thousand pounds of goddamned brahmin steak! Whadda I look like, a fucking deathclaw? It's a mistake, right? Go deal with it." Swank resisted the urge to pop the kid on the back of his head as he bolted for the kitchen to deal with the incorrect delivery and turned instead to the mountain of invoices, spreadsheets, and messages that had fallen back on him since the new ruler of Vegas had taken himself out of the game. "Fuck." He ran his hands through his hair and stared at the mess that was starting to creep across the front desk. Where in the hell had he put that claim note from the Kings' casino? It was worth six figs in caps, and if he lost it, Benny would have his head.

He stopped himself, then snorted. Who was he kidding? Benny wouldn't notice, not with that dame of his to obsess over.

But the other Chairmen would, and all of their employees, when none of them got paid if he didn't find that goddamned claim note.

Before he even got started on the stack, a commotion at the door interrupted his panic and gave him a whole new one. A very strange party had just walked in− two women in serious combat armor (one blonde, one strawberry blonde, and both gorgeous, he noted), a distinguished man in his middle age, and a lithe, well-muscled ghoul who was easily a head taller than anyone Swank had ever seen, excepting Mean Sonofabitch. The women carried themselves like professional soldiers, NCR rangers or Brotherhood, maybe. The ghoul carried himself like a predator. And apparently, he objected to surrendering the shotgun on his back. Swank was terrified of him on mere principle, even before he placed one huge hand on the stock.

The strawberry haired woman− and Swank gave her full points for bravery− grabbed his arm and restrained him. "Remember why we're here."

The ghoul visibly composed himself, his face suddenly devoid of any emotion, though the tension in his shoulders spoke volumes.

"Besides," the blonde said now, "it's not like _you_ need a weapon to kill someone." She patted his other arm as he relinquished the shotgun and a combat dagger the length of Swank's femur to the doorman, and Swank let out his breath. He'd have to watch where these cats went, and speak to whoever ran their table; he had a hunch it would be best for everyone to ensure they had a good time.

He opened his mouth to greet them, but the blonde interrupted before he could speak. "We're looking for someone," she said, handing him a worn photo. "She has brown hair, green eyes. Her name is Honor Meservey. We were told she might be here."

He stared at the woman, then stared at the photo. Even though her hair was darker, it was unmistakably the boss' dame. "So that's her last name, huh?" Slowly, the implication of that information dawned on him. "Oh, holy _shit._ You knew her. You knew her _before."_

The ghoul spoke. "Knew her before _what?"_

Swank had feared this guy before, but the tone of his voice sent chills through him. "Uh, I think you better talk to the boss."

 

Sarah Lyons could hardly stand still as they waited for this "boss" to appear. An exchange of favors for favors for favors had sent Honor out west, taking a job as a courier in the place of a retired Brotherhood scribe, and when she hadn't come home they'd feared Charon was going to personally slaughter his way from one coast to the other in search of her. They'd been all the hell over the Mojave wasteland following tales and rumors of her, and Sarah knew his patience was already worn past the breaking point. She didn't know how he'd restrained himself from leaving more bodies in their wake already, and she prayed that this man had some answers. She didn't know how much longer Charon could go on, not knowing, before something snapped.

He finally appeared. He was a pretty man, almost− but not quite− too pretty for her, but he looked worn, beaten down. Everything about him spoke of weariness. His right arm, out of its sleeve beneath his jacket, was bandaged around the bicep and in a sling, so he shook hands quickly− even with Charon, without hesitation, she noted with mixed pleasure and relief− with his left. He shook her hand last, and she got a good look at him as he finished introducing himself. He had the deepest, darkest eyes she'd ever seen, startlingly intense. Luckily, Reilly and James had been nominated as the spokespeople for their little group, so she didn't have to worry about finding her voice any time soon and could just check him out instead. She'd have felt guilty about it except it also let her watch his body language as they spoke with him. Swank introduced him. "This is Benny. He runs the Tops. Well, the whole Strip, really."

Benny turned his head slightly toward Swank and the taller man fell silent. "What can I do for you?" 

James had retrieved the photo from Swank and handed it to Benny. "We're looking for this woman. We were told to check here."

Benny looked down at the photo and his shoulders tensed, but his voice betrayed nothing. "Why?"

"She's my daughter," James replied, and Benny snapped his head up to look at him. "She came west to do a job for a friend, and never came home. Please, if you've seen her−"

"'A friend'?" Benny handed the photo back. "And just who is this 'friend'?"

Charon practically growled. "If you know anything, it is in your best interests to tell us."

To his credit, Benny didn't flinch. "You want to know something, I want to know something. They're both simple questions with simple answers. So, you show me yours and I'll show you mine, hey?"

Charon seemed to grow in every direction, but didn't lay a hand on the much smaller man, to Sarah's relief. But to her frustration− and just a little fear− Benny didn't back down either. He just met Charon's eyes calmly, as if he looked his impending death in the face every day with breakfast. Of course, judging by what they'd seen of the Mojave so far, that might well be the case, fancy suit or no.

Sarah spoke up to break the tension, just in case. "She was a retired scribe with the Brotherhood of Steel, a woman named Morris. It was a courier job, and she was down at the time with a broken leg. Honor agreed to do the job as a favor to my father− Morris is an old friend of his."

"Retired _out_ of the Brotherhood?" He sounded skeptical.

"Our branch of the Brotherhood...doesn't see eye to eye with the rest of the order. On many issues."

Benny relaxed marginally. "I see. Okay. Yeah, she's here. Follow me, and I'll− I'll take you to her." His voice had an odd hitch, but the tension was gone, replaced again by the weariness.

She tried not to hope that their unpleasant adventure was really almost ended; they'd hit too many dead ends and disappointments already. Charon might just kill this guy if it turned out to be a case of mistaken identity. The elevator ride to the 13th floor was almost unbearable. Once there Benny led them to a nicely appointed suite. "Have a seat."

Charon looked fit to burst and James said, "Please, we just want to see my daughter−"

"She's here, and you'll see her," Benny replied. "But there's something you gotta know first, and I think it'd be better if you were sitting down."

With reluctance of varying degrees, they took the offered seats. Benny remained standing, his back to a door at the rear of the room. "'Bout a week ago, we had an− incident. Some goons with break-down rifles and collapsible batons smuggled them in, figuring they'd take us by surprise. And they did.

"I don't know what Honor was like before, but she's− well, now she's the sort of gal who runs toward trouble, not away from it. It's real charming most of the time, but−" He stopped, swallowed hard, and continued as if every word were a deathclaw digging its way out of his throat. "One of them clubbed her from behind before I could stop him. There was nothing anyone...." Here he trailed off, and didn't seem inclined to continue.

"But she's alive, yes?" James asked. "When you said we could see her−"

"Yes. You can see her, and she's alive. But she never woke up." Benny ran his left hand through his already-disheveled hair. "We've had every doc in from Tanner's Hill to the Mojave Outpost. None of them think she's gonna wake up. Ever." He turned away from them and rubbed his eyes; he looked exhausted.

Sarah snuck a glance at Charon; his expression was usually unreadable, and so it was now, but it was different somehow, as if his body was present but his mind miles away. James kept talking. "I'm a doctor, too, and I don't think I flatter myself to say of no small ability. Perhaps I can still help her."

At this, Benny looked much like Sarah had felt in the elevator: hopeful, and afraid. 

She spoke up, offering what help she could. "We can take her back to the Citadel. We've got a vertibird; we could be there in a matter of hours. We could be in California even quicker, if my father's policies don't disincline them to help us."

Benny shook his head. "Can't move her. Nothing that might jar her or shake her around."

"Why can't she be moved?" James asked.

Benny shifted from foot to foot. "She has a− the docs call it a 'previous insult' to her brain. They say any substantial movement now might kill her."

"What sort of previous insult?"

Benny turned his eyes to the floor. "She was...shot. In the head."

Charon closed his eyes and bowed his head. "I need to see her." His soft voice, without its usual growl, almost startled Sarah as much as a shout. It sounded nothing like Charon; it sounded...defeated.

Benny shook himself back to the moment. "Right," he said, turning the doorknob behind him without looking. "She's in here."

They approached the room quietly, even James letting Charon take point. Though she was thinner than they'd last seen her and the desert sun had tinted her brown hair with red, it was indeed Honor who lay in the large bed, blankets and pillows carefully tucking her in, a small red teddy bear nestled under one limp arm. She had always been pale− after all, her skin hadn't seen the sun until she was nineteen− but now her skin looked almost translucent. Benny had tactfully remained in the outer room, and the four of them ranged around the bed, Charon dropping to his knee beside it. He picked up one of her fine, enervated hands and engulfed it in his. He nuzzled her hair, placing his lips close to her ear. Sarah realized he was whispering to her, and she suddenly felt uncomfortable; they all cared for Honor in their own ways, but now she felt this moment should have been Charon's alone− none of them was closer to her than he. When she saw a tear trace his cheek, she turned away. She glanced up and met Benny's eyes through the open door. He was leaning against the nearest couch, the pose one of casual familiarity, and it only took another beat for her to realize the situation. This wasn't Honor's, but Benny's suite− Benny's bed. Emotional as he was, he wasn't tearing up over a friend, but a lover.

Except Honor would never, ever betray someone, most especially Charon.

What the hell was going on here? Something the man at the front desk had said came to mind, something Benny had repeated, and Sarah tilted her head as a request to him to step closer. He obliged. "You and the man downstairs both commented about us knowing Honor 'before'− before what?"

Now, finally, Benny looked just a little bit nervous. But he answered, "Before she was shot."

James looked away from the heartbreaking reunion and toward them. "She was different afterward? Her personality changed?"

"No way of knowing. All she could remember was her name. It's like her mind was...wiped clean."

Reilly clenched and unclenched her jaw. "And who's the bastard who shot her? Or have you already taken care of the son of a bitch?"

Benny half smiled. "It was me." He met Reilly's eyes squarely. "I'm the son of a bitch who shot her."

Before Sarah could even wrap her head around that, Charon had launched from the floor and into Benny, propelling him from the doorway and into the nearest wall. He had the smaller man off the floor at least a foot, one hand wrapped around his throat just under his jaw, his other forearm braced across Benny's midriff and holding most of his weight. _So he can talk while Charon chokes him,_ Sarah realized. _We're going to get to stand here and watch him kill an unarmed man._ She knew better than to think any of them could stop him, and at the moment, probably none of them wanted to.

"What the fuck do you mean, you shot her?" Charon trembled from head to foot and punctuated his words by cracking the back of Benny's head against the wall, and Sarah was again amazed at how much fury and frustration Charon had managed to suppress. Up until now.

Benny seemed unnaturally calm, and offered no argument. "I didn't know her yet," he grated out. "I thought I had to, for what I needed to do. She'd have done the same, she said. I didn't know her then."

Charon tightened his grip, and Benny closed his eyes, still unresisting. Slowly, painfully (for both of them in different ways, Sarah figured), Charon lowered him. "Explain." He didn't remove his hand from Benny's throat, and Benny didn't protest. He just spoke. He told them everything, from the pre-war megalomaniac with his foot on the throat of New Vegas to his acquisition and reprogramming of Yes Man to that night in the graveyard. He went further, telling them how Honor had spared his life, helped him escape the Legion by giving him her only stealth boy so he could sneak out while she covered his retreat with her own blood. He told them how he'd slept better at first knowing she'd survived what he'd done to her, then worse after she willingly sacrificed her well being for his. And he told them how she had found him again, brought him back to the Strip and the only family he'd ever known, and how, in time, they had fallen so hard for each other. Sarah, worldly though she was, believed every word.

Charon seemed less inclined to do so. He stood for an interminable moment, his fingers flexing and unflexing around Benny's neck. "So the two of you are...."

"I didn't know she had anyone else," Benny replied softly. _"She_ didn't know. I didn't think it was possible, that such a solid platinum gal would be alone, but...I thought I'd hit the greatest jackpot of my life. Several times over." He met Charon's eyes, then shrugged an apology. "It really was too good to be true."

Charon was silent long enough that Sarah began itching to reach for the gun she was no longer carrying. Of course, it was the four of them against one man− and one of _them_ was Charon− but this was also a man who'd managed to come closer to killing Honor than the Capital Wasteland and the Enclave had, combined. He probably knew a trick or two, but still....

"I understand why you wanna off me." Benny had still made no move to distance himself from Charon, which, in Sarah's opinion, lent weight to his next words. "And it's copacetic if you do. I deserve it for what I did to her. But tell her−" here he broke off again before continuing− "that I love her. She's− everything. The tops." And he stood there, arms at his sides, Charon's hand around his throat, and waited.

Charon flexed his fingers again, then growled out, "That's acceptable." And in the next instant he had pinned Benny again to the wall, choking him to death with one hand.

Benny still didn't resist, even as the others begged Charon to stop, that he might still have information they needed. He didn't even reflexively raise his hands to Charon's. The awareness in his eyes began to fade.

Sarah heard the click of the main door behind them, and now Benny raised his arms, motioning− to move away? She didn't know why he had the change of heart; she was more concerned about the unknown at her back. She and Reilly spun to face the intruders, a redheaded woman in a cowboy hat and armed with a shotgun, and, of all things, an Enclave eyebot. The woman brought her shotgun to bear on them and the eyebot blasted a short burst of music before swiveling its weapon toward them.

"Why the hell _not?"_ the woman shouted, and Sarah realized she was addressing Benny. He wasn't waving them away; he was warding off the woman and the robot from killing them.

"Charon, wait." Reilly darted to his side. His eyes flickered toward her, but Sarah couldn't tell if he actually heard. Reilly tried again. "If he really wanted Honor dead, she would be. She's helpless. If there's anything more he can tell us...."

"Get the fuck away from him before I blow a hole in your back," the redhead snapped in spite of Benny's protests. "Yeah, he's a fucking prick, but he's Honor's fucking prick." Beside her the eyebot darted side to side, aiming its weapon at each of them in turn, beeping and chittering relentlessly.

"You think he might know something useful?" Charon asked.

Reilly sighed. "I don't know. But I know you won't let yourself take that chance. Not where she's involved."

Charon growled under his breath and let go of Benny, who fell immediately to the floor. The eyebot headed straight toward him and hovered− protectively, Sarah thought− about a foot away, but the redheaded woman made no move except to relax a little. "Who the hell are you, and why are you here?"

Benny tried to answer her, but couldn't yet speak. James stepped forward slowly. "I am James Meservey, and Honor is my daughter. These are friends of hers."

The woman's eyes widened. "That a fact?" She glanced down at Benny, who nodded. "Well, I'm sorry then for the introductions. I'm Cass. This is ED-E." The robot chittered. "We're friends of hers, too." She looked them over, completely ignoring the man suffering on the floor. "So she's Honoria Meservey, huh? I've heard of you people, but what's her story? How's the 'messiah of the Capital Wasteland' end up as a lowly courier in the god-forsaken Mojave?"

Benny answered, though his voice rasped. "Favor to the Brotherhood."

"You're kidding. Those pricks? No wonder they rub her the wrong way." She gave Benny a wry look. "They got her shot in the face." She slung her shotgun back over her shoulder and listened while they told what they knew of Honor's misadventures until they'd lost touch when she'd neared Goodsprings. Here, she interjected, "Oh, yeah, when Benny shot her and left her for dead in a shallow grave."

"Yeah," Benny said, voice still husky, "let's dwell on that as much as possible."

"And then we tracked her here," Reilly said, jumping to the end of the story. The tension in the room was already making it hard to breathe without dragging the rest out.

"Hm." Cass glanced at the bedroom door, then back to Benny and the livid bruises rapidly rising on his throat. "Well, don't that just complicate things."


	3. Chapter 3

"Complicate" wasn't the word Sarah would have used for the situation, but it was far more polite. To the relief of all sides, Charon and Benny maintained a delicate civility. Benny seemed ready to acquiesce to any request they made, save to move Honor, and Sarah had to admit she knew of no better doctor− inside the Brotherhood or out− than this Doc Mitchell he had brought in from Goodsprings. The doctor came in twice a day to administer IV nutrients and check Honor's condition, which remained resolutely unchanging. Benny gave them keys to the Presidential suite and two others, though the bedroom of one would have been enough to accommodate all of them; meanwhile, the front desk was turning people away. Whatever Benny's motivation, it wasn't caps.

But, and Sarah was positive about this, it sure as hell wasn't love. A man didn't fall in love with a woman he shot in the face.

Still, she had to admit he made a damned good show of it. The first couple of nights he let Charon sit in the chair at Honor's bedside while he spent the night in a chair next to the door, tactfully out of Charon's line of sight. After those few days, he carried on a hushed conversation with Charon in the bedroom, and they both began keeping vigil, on opposite sides of the bed. It was the strangest− and in some ways, sweetest− thing she'd ever seen. She wasn't surprised by such behavior from Charon (though she was surprised that he allowed Benny to be near Honor at all); her father had told her how Charon had stayed at Honor's side throughout the two weeks she and Sarah had been unconscious after activating the purifier at the Memorial. Their devotion to each other was legendary at the Citadel partly due to that, and partly due to the fact that Honor, clad only in combat armor, had physically attacked Cross after the latter uttered an anti-ghoul slur in front of her. Amazingly Honor had been winning the fist fight through sheer fury when several other power-armored knights managed to peel them apart. Honor had shouted something at Cross− that the "bitch was lucky" Charon hadn't been there to hear− before they got her dragged outside and cooled down.

There was simply no way Sarah could imagine, lost memory or no, Honor being in love with Benny. Part of her wanted Honor to wake up just to explain what the hell was going on.

As it stood now, though, the chances of that happening had dwindled to zero. James and Mitchell had conferred for hours and tried numerous experimental therapies with no results whatsoever. Charon and Benny continued their bedside vigil, but if possible, Charon was even more taciturn than before, and Benny seemed to age by the hour.

Wherever they were all headed, it was nowhere good.

 

Benny had yet to surrender to that fatalistic view, and neither, obviously, had Charon. They'd found odd support in their considered alliance, and comfort, strange as that was. He knew that the truce with Charon surprised both camps, but so far neither he nor Charon had chosen to share the details with them. Just as well. Honor's friends− and especially her father− didn't need the details of her love life.

Those details had sure helped _him,_ though. When he'd first seen Charon− huge, hulking wall of predator grace and muscle that he was− he had to admit he'd seen writing on the wall, and it hadn't been his. Honor, pussycat to him, Amazon warrior woman to the rest of the Mojave, belonged with a man like that...what _he_ had once been but turned his back on in exchange for life on the Strip. She belonged with another predator. He'd have figured the two for lovers if Charon _hadn't_ pinned him to the wall.

Besides, James made it clear he outright hated the guy...or at the very least detested his existence. And on the surface, who could blame him? He'd left his nineteen-year-old daughter in a vault, the story went, to protect her; instead she comes to the surface, loses her virginity to a stone cold killer− and a ghoul to boot− and slaughters her way across the Capital Wasteland with said killer at her shoulder. Daddy's little girl...not exactly. Not exactly Daddy's dream for girlie's future, either

Except Daddy, and Brotherhood Sentinel and mercenary, all had it wrong. Charon had spilled out everything (or at least, everything important between them) to Benny that first night they'd stayed by her bed together. Charon did love her, devotedly and passionately. He'd just never gotten around to telling her. She was his employer, he'd said. A sexual relationship would have been..."inappropriate."

Benny studied Charon's frown from across the bed. _Yeah. Fuck "inappropriate" now, huh, pally?_ Because from the look on the other man's face, Benny would have bet his right arm that Charon wished now he'd said something, and to hell with "inappropriate."

Because now, by both their lights, that made Honor Benny's.

Pyrrhic victory, Benny figured.

Truth was, until Charon appeared on the scene, he'd figured− correctly, he knew now− that he was Honor's first-and-only...maybe not her first-and-only love, but certainly her first-and-only lover. Their first time together, she'd been willing− enthusiastic, even− but unsure. A little clumsy, a little timid, nothing like his killer kitten who'd served up New Vegas on a silver platter for him. And physically, she'd been....

He tried to stop that line of thought when his pants started becoming uncomfortable. He wasn't shy about his sexual prowess, and Lady Luck had been very, _very_ good to him. But even with his size, Honor had wrapped around him tighter still. Patience and passion had opened her to him, and god, it had been...more than memorable, and not just because of the sex. He couldn't remember ever looking forward to seeing a woman again after a night's tumble, but with Honor.... Maybe it was the damage he had done to her, the erasure of her past, but she dealt plainly with everyone, even him, and he might question why she stayed, but he knew it was because she wanted to. That kind of devotion was both alien to him, and infinitely welcome; it was surprisingly nice to be with a woman without suspecting ulterior motives and to have a partner and confidant he could turn his back on without getting a knife in it. He always knew where he stood with her, as did her friends, and her enemies. She threw herself into every relationship with the same headlong passion (even when she shouldn't, as her friends frequently reminded him) as if she had no past, no life of her own to protect. It had certainly worked out for him. Until now, of course, that her past sat across their bed from him. 

At least Charon, lucky bastard, didn't know what he was missing.

So, yeah. Pyrrhic. But still better than a loss, and he'd take it over that any day.

Voices from the front room shut down his maudlin train of thought altogether. He exchanged furrowed looks with Charon and pushed himself out of his chair with his uninjured arm, silently promising her− so many things, as always. To protect her. To cover Charon's back, should this prove to be another assault on the casino, or anything that might endanger their mutual pussycat. Benny had already acquainted Charon with the back way out of the suite, just as a precaution. Benny had every faith that, like he himself, Charon would stop short of nothing to protect Honor, including ending any life he had to, even his own. He was confident he could leave her in no better hands than Charon's.

He stepped out into the suite's main room to find Swank, James, and a man he didn't know arguing in the entryway. "Boss, I told this guy nobody gets in to see you, but he made a run for the elevator. We didn't shoot him 'cause he says he knows somethin' to help that dame of yours."

"That's right." The stranger turned to Benny, who'd made it to the door by now. "I know someone who can help her."

"Yeah?" Benny kept his expression cool, but his stomach twisted itself into a knot. "Who?"

The man hesitated, fiddling with the cuffs of his coat. Then he put his hands out in front of him and shoved Benny backwards into the doorjamb. He was a couple of inches shorter than Benny, but Benny fell back, fire stabbing through his gut and into his back under the man's right hand.

The man held his face close to Benny's, eyes wild with joy, as Swank pulled his gun. "Ave! True to Cae−"

Swank opened his skull. He dropped, lifeless before he hit the floor.

Benny tried to push himself away from the door frame, but couldn't. James put his hands on Benny's shoulders and held him back. Up. "Don't move, for God's sake...."

"Jesus, Boss!" Swank looked back and forth between them.

Benny stared down for a few seconds at the knife hilt sticking out of his abdomen. He tried again to pull himself away from the wall and realized that he was pinned there, like a cazador under glass. The knife had gone through him and embedded in the door frame, and he didn't have the leverage to free it. Blood pooled through his shirt and ran down his hip and thigh, the feeling of it far too familiar. He began to shiver.

"Cut him loose from the door." Charon had entered the room at the gunshot, and his tone was commanding enough that neither of the other men questioned him; James kept supporting Benny, now with Charon's help, while Swank ran to find someone in maintenance to cut through the knife blade.

"Stabbed me..." Benny said.

"We'd noticed. Be still."

"Take care of her." Benny turned his face up to Charon's.

Charon returned his worried look calmly. "You aren't dead yet. Now be still." 

"Keep...rolling the dice...." Benny sagged and the men redoubled their efforts to hold his weight off the blade.

James opened the tear in Benny's shirt around the blade. The entry wound was uglier than he'd expected from a knife slender enough to smuggle into the casino. And to complicate things, Benny was heavy, far heavier than he looked. Small wonder; his body under James's hands was solid muscle. _Eight years civilized,_ he reminded himself; _and before that, a tribal nomad._ The other Strip families, they'd been told, had gone soft, preferred hiring others to do their dirty work; but not this one. Not this one man, anyway. He preferred to handle things himself... _including,_ James thought bitterly, _shooting my daughter._ He gave to a moment's temptation and slacked his grip, but Charon took up his part of the burden and kept the rapidly-fading Benny from sliding further down on the knife. James suppressed a snarl. For supposedly loving his daughter, the ghoul was getting on surprisingly well with her attempted murderer.

And rapist, in James's opinion Without her memory, Honor's judgment was clearly impaired, rendering her incapable of granting consent. Obviously, that didn't bother Benny. He suddenly wondered if her being unconscious stopped this− this slimy radroach from doing whatever he wanted to her− what might he even have done to her before tossing her in that grave?− and nearly vomited at the imagined scene of Benny raping his daughter's helpless body at her own graveside. He managed to keep some composure, but derived far too much satisfaction from Benny's soft suppressed groans as he probed again at the wound.

Swank returned with bolt cutters, and with Cass, Sarah and Reilly, and the robot at his heels. Somebody swept the bar clear as Swank cut Benny free, and they lifted him to the bar smoothly. Benny's breathing, ragged and strained, was the only sound he made.

"What do we do?" Swank asked, cutters dangling from one hand as he stared at the trail of blood from Benny's side down the front of the bar.

"Go downstairs," James replied. "Get Dr. Mitchell from wherever Benny's been keeping him."

Swank vanished. James nodded at the door, and Sarah kicked the corpse into the hall and closed it behind Swank. James's hand hesitated over the hilt of the knife, and Reilly spoke. "I've seen that type of blade before. It's serrated to make up for it being so narrow. If you pull it out, you'll rip him up inside. You'll kill him."

James breathed carefully, in, out, trying to find someplace in his mind he could stand in this madness and pretend that this was a normal procedure. A normal patient. _His daughter's helpless body.... His daughter's would-be killer. His daughter's rapist._ "Are you certain?"

"Even if it isn't, won't he bleed worse if you pull it out?" Cass asked.

Charon looked positively murderous. He answered her indirectly, growling at James, "You don't want to save him. You want to kill him."

James mustered all the authority he could in the face of Charon's indignation. "That's outrageous! I'm a physician, for God's sake−"

"Having him out of the way would help, though, wouldn't it?" Charon asked, his hand edging toward the stock of his shotgun. "If Benny is gone, who is to stop you from taking Honor out of here?"

James gritted his teeth, another image of Benny humping and grunting over his naked, unconscious little girl forming unbidden over the sight of the helpless man bleeding out on the counter before him. "I swear, I am doing my best to help him." He gripped the hilt and pulled firmly, keeping the blade aligned with the angle of entry as if, indeed, he was trying to do as little further harm as possible. The blade caught with a sucking, tearing sound that was nearly drowned out by Benny's strangled cry. Charon slung his shotgun off his shoulder and James yanked harder, dislodging the blade by a good two inches and bringing Benny nearly upright with a shout. James released the blade immediately and Benny fell back, his head cracking against the bar top.

"Get away from him!" Charon snarled, warning James back with the muzzle of the shotgun. Reilly stepped past them to hold Benny's shoulders, steadying him as his body contorted around the blade.

Benny gasped, and Reilly petted his forehead. She tried to still him with a hand on his sternum, but even that gentle pressure arched his back and dragged another choked cry from his bruised throat. "Don't...." He tried to edge away from her touch, but dislodging the blade even that much brought him up short. He paled and pressed the side of his face into the cool countertop.

"Reilly! For fuck's sake, stop touching him!" Cass shouted.

"I'm just trying to help−"

"That's not helping! Christ!"

A new voice cut through the room, bringing them all up short. "Next one of you touches him, I turn your head into a canoe." As one, they turned toward the bedroom door to find ED-E, the eyebot, hovering under the arm of− supporting− a very weak, but very conscious, Honor. ED-E chittered at them, his weapon swiveling, but Honor's pistol didn't waver from its aim at Reilly's forehead. Her eyes swept the room, settling on Cass. "I heard Benny scream," she said, her words a bit slurred now but her gun still steady.

"You did," Cass replied, her eyes huge. "Sweetie...are you sure you should be upright? How do you feel?"

Honor swayed a little and blinked heavily. "I heard Benny scream."

Charon reholstered his gun and took half a slow step toward her, opening the distance between himself and the bar counter so Honor could see Benny. "He's been stabbed," he said, his voice as gentle as when he'd told Benny he needed to see her, so many nights ago.

With ED-E's help, she wavered toward them. "How−?"

"Legion," Cass said.

Honor stumbled the rest of the way to Benny's side. She fell against Charon, then leaned on him for support, apparently unaware she was even doing it. She placed a pale hand on Benny's forehead and he quieted beneath her touch. She dropped her sagging pistol and lifted her other hand to Benny's throat, trembling fingers tracing the ring of bruises there, then brushing lightly across the sling on his right arm. "What...what happened?" She swayed again. "He's gonna be all right, though...right?" She turned to gaze up at Charon but had a hard time focusing on him. "You were protecting him."

Charon straightened "I was."

"Who− why?"

He closed his eyes briefly before answering. "Because you love him."

"Oh. Do you know me?"

Charon's voice wavered slightly, but it was mostly lost in his ghoul's growl. "Yes, I do. I did− very well."

She slipped her arms around his waist, laid her head into his chest, and hugged him tight. "Thank you."

It was their first embrace.

She pulled away and leaned over Benny, who still seemed to be resting a bit easier for her having touched him. She stroked his face tenderly, and he opened his eyes and turned to her.

"Honor− Pussycat−"

She touched his lips with the tips of her fingers. "Oh, baby, don't move, don't worry. You'll be all right." She glanced back at Charon, then Cass, for support.

"Doc Mitchell's on his way," Cass said.

Honor turned back to Benny and gazed down at him with open adoration. She smiled at him reassuringly. "Well, we know he does good work."

Benny reached toward her face with a shaking hand, brushing her cheek with the backs of his fingers before she took his hand and held it between her own to steady it. "Thought you'd...never wake up...never hear your voice, or...see those pretty eyes again."

She turned again to Cass for help to spare Benny's throat the explanation. "What does he mean?"

Cass waved toward the bedroom. "You got clipped on the head pretty good. You've been unconscious for weeks."

"Doc...didn't think you'd...." Benny squeezed his eyes shut, seemingly against the emotional pain as much as the physical.

"Oh, honey baby," Honor murmured, "you should know by now it isn't that easy to get rid of me. You're still stuck with me."

Benny smiled weakly. "Thank god." Then he winced again, suppressing the urge to writhe. Honor took the opportunity to round on James and Reilly.

"Who the fuck are you?" She cut her eyes toward Cass and back again. "And why are you still alive?"

"They were trying to help," Sarah answered.

Cass scowled. "Sort of."

Honor swayed again and braced herself over Benny, palms flat on the counter on either side of his body. "Sort of?"

Cass shifted her weight, her hand on her hip and her shotgun propped against her shoulder, ready for quick use as she eyed James. "There's been some debate on that point."

"Honor." James took a step toward her. "Don't you remember me− any of us− at all?"

"No." She turned to Cass again. "'S he a threat?"

"I don't think so," she replied, though her tone strongly suggested that she'd considered a different answer.

"Hmph." Honor steadied herself again but didn't budge from her protective stance over Benny. "'Kay. For now."

Before James could argue her slurred pronouncement, the doors to the suite opened and Swank entered, followed by Doc Mitchell. Both men halted abruptly upon seeing Honor upright and guarding Benny, but Mitchell composed himself quickly and hurried to Benny's other side. "I suppose we'll discuss your second miraculous recovery later," he said to her. "But for right now...you two just can't stay out of trouble, can you?" He had Benny's shirt open and was examining the damage; his tone was light, but the furrow of his eyebrows told the true story.

"Never...a dull...." Benny's eyelids fluttered as he fought to stay conscious.

"It's all right, son. Just relax. Asleep is better than awake right now, anyway."

After Benny's eyes drifted closed and stayed, Honor asked, "'S bad, isn't it?"

"'Fraid so, my dear. But I'll do my best to fix him up right as rain, you can count on that."

"I know," Honor replied, pushing herself off of Benny so Mitchell could tend to him and tipping backward into the solid wall that was Charon, "otherwise you wouldn't be here."


End file.
